


Oh Glory

by kyanve



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Depression, Gen, Mental Breakdown, people who should know better being dumb, thancred being very very stupid and having issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 11:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10188776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyanve/pseuds/kyanve
Summary: Basically my headcanon interlude for how Thancred got his self-destructing idiot ass possessed in between Ifrit and the diplomatic mission to the Sylphs.





	

He was chasing smoke and shadows. It wasn't completely alone, really, but Alphinaud could only do so much; the boy was bright, good at going through information, but had also never done anything outside of coordinating and dealing with safe contacts; with half of what Thancred was having to do, the boy would've been either eaten alive or spooked his contacts into bolting, or worse. Everything he'd had to chase to get the information was definitely not safe contacts. He was half-dozing in the saddle, Teio's gait shifting with a bit of weaving to compensate. 

He'd left Baderon's late enough for the barkeep to've offered a room for the night, but the detour into the Shroud on a wild goose chase had wasted more time that he didn't really have; the poachers might've been worlds more pleasant to deal with than the Alacran thugs, but it'd been a wild dodo chase. They were clever trackers and lived by knowing that part of the Black Shroud better than the authorities, and they hadn't seen hide nor hair of a Dalamud cultist in a good few month's turns. Updates on Imperial movements in the south shroud were good, but all he could do with those right now was hand them over to the Wood Wailers in a hurry before they asked where he'd gotten it. 

He'd gotten a good five years' worth of leads on everything except the threats that needed to be dealt with yesterday, more than he could delegate and what was left was more than he could've dealt with even if he weren't trying to ferret out something worse. 

He was lost in thought enough to take a minute to realize that the chocobo had stopped, stock still where the road branched off towards Thal's Respite, the bird's head turned around to fix him with a significant look. 

“Don't give me that look. We need to at least get to Drybone tonight, I've managed worse.”

Teio shifted with a quiet, low, gutteral chatter, head lowering and wings drooping. It had been a long run from Baderon's out of the Shroud, and he had been trying to make time; there was a stream nearby, enough growth to forage, and pushing the bird too hard wouldn't get anything done. 

“Alright, fine.” He shifted to drop out of the saddle, missing a step almost as he caught the ground next to the bird. Teio shifted with a couple agitated beak-clacks and a gentle headbutt to his chest that almost put him off-balance. He caught the reins, leading down the path toward the shrine until he was near the entrance, stopping to take the main saddlebag off and sling the strap over one shoulder. “I'll be here; you go get fed and come back here to rest.” 

The bird gave him another nudge and a low whistle before trotting off; he took the pack into the shrine, dropping it back next to the statue, and settled heavily down leaning back against it. He barely paid attention to whatever Baderon had sent with him for food, and spared some of the canteen of water, settling it back in the bag.

It was dipping cold enough to wheedle the blanket out, wrapping up against the stone, giving another flask a look. Baderon had been of the opinion that he looked like he needed the mead. 

There was a rustle and footsteps near the entrance, followed by a wobbly trill and a couple beak-clack clicks, a couple more steps and a “wumph”; it'd be a few hours at least before Teio was up and about again. 

He took out the mead with a grumble; sure, the three they'd caught were all lower-order, but they weren't bothering to hide, either. The Alacran wizard that'd struck the bargain had known damn well what he'd been dealing with, and if that hadn't been stopped, it would've been either the worst thugs in Ul'dah getting Sil'dihn necromancy, or a succession challenge when they least needed it; the one Y'shtola'd caught had nearly helped the Sahagin kidnap and temper an entire village, and the one in the Shroud had goaded the Ixali into assaulting the oldest tree in the forest and a major sacred site in the pact with the elementals. Brazen, sweeping moves that could've half-toppled the City-States just as they were starting to recover; were they just getting antsy that things might recover from the Calamity, or was there some other blood in the water they didn't know about?

And if the weaker ones were up to that much, what were the overlords doing? They hadn't even been this visible before Dalamud's descent. There was a larger design somewhere, they wouldn't be moving that hard or that rashly if they didn't have something else giving them confidence that they could afford a few setbacks. 

If only they had a clue what it was; he rested his head back on the stone pedestal. He didn't even realize he was drowsing until he was startled awake by the pulse of the linkpearl, hand hitting the bag as he fumbled to brush the pearl in answer.

“What who?”

“...Alert as ever, I see.” He rolled his eyes; Alphinaud, ever charming. “Where are you?”

“Thal's Respite; Teio didn't quite agree with the pace I took out of the Shroud, and insisted on a nap.” 

There was a pause, and he tried not to nod off. “Did you have any luck with your contacts there?”

“None, unless you want to know how many scouting parties the Garleans have slipped in past the Wailers.” 

Another, shorter pause. “You've either been drinking or the bird isn't the only one that should be sleeping.” 

“Baderon said I looked like I needed the mead.” It was a very weak attempt at humor that he didn't have the energy for.

“Is this really the time for that?”

He had to give a short bark of a laugh at that. “I've gleaned more earning a hangover than most people get sober.” 

“....Right. Well, then, I'll make a note not to expect you in until sometime tomorrow afternoon; as much as I have use for you, do try not to impress me. It'd be an embarrassment if you fell out of the saddle en route.” 

Some day he really needed to sit the boy down and go over when you actually needed that kind of cover attempt. “You take care too, brat.” 

“Funny, I remember hearing that used for you quite often.” 

“No better expert.” 

“Right. You sleep, and I'll see if I can winnow anything coherent out of what I have by the time you get here.” 

The pearl chirped faintly as Alphinaud stopped his end; he stayed with his head on the stone, staring up at the high ceiling of the shrine. “He's trying to be you, I think. He's grown up clever, but it's more than he can do; I don't think any of us could.” Did Thal relay messages like that? He tugged the blanket a bit closer around him. “We still need you; we'd have at least a clue what they were up to a week ago – would've been moving on everything lately before we were burning the candle-plate... lucky there isn't a second Dalamud, they'd have dropped it on our heads before we even knew they were moving.” 

Everything lately had been cutting it so close, close enough that it was taking people nobody could've planned for blundering into the path to nudge things out of 'complete disaster', and they'd near run out of luck once already – although he was sure the Flames and refugees they'd had to mercy-kill would've called it more than just “running out of luck”. If there hadn't been those bits of intervention...

He was at wit's end and it was never enough. Gods only knew what else the Ascians had done, victims they didn't even know about yet that they should've. 

Somewhere he'd fallen asleep to a few fitful dreams of dragonfire and Ifrit's sulfur-stench. He'd managed to lose enough of the blanket for the desert night to get uncomfortable, draped awkwardly over the pack against the statue's pedestal; he gave a few muzzy blinks at the darkness, late enough of an hour that the candles the keeper'd left had gone out, head hurting and wobbly. He curled closer into the blanket, shifting sitting up miserably, leaning on the pedestal. Everything ached and there were little edges of something where he wasn't sure if he was even awake; it was dark enough and staying aware felt slippery enough that the walls almost looked like they were moving, where he could make out the walls at all. 

“Forgive me not managing the ritual; I don't think I could manage sitting up long enough to put the power into it.” And being at a different shrine, but, well, somehow he didn't think the Thaumaturges would appreciate him passing out on the floor of the temple they tended. “I don't think I can manage much, anymore... gone from taking on a Legion to messing up against a weaker calling of a Primal.” He was supposed to be able to handle it; after everything they'd done before the Calamity – but then, they'd still had the All-Seer. “Was supposed to keep the worst of it at bay, stop the things that'd spread misery... I'd thought we were strong, but these last five years – we've barely held together even without anything pushing.” For a moment it almost looked like the statue'd moved, something shifting in the darkness. “We can't - ...I can't. Everyone else is scraping something together, they need me, and I can't; I lost twenty people to the Amal'jaa and Ifrit, and I wasn't even there for it. I can't even handle a Primal and I'm chasing 'Paragons'. I'm not strong enough, and if we can't manage -” The Calamity had been the best they could do with Louisoix; what would happen now with the way things were going? “I'd give anything, to just be strong enough – have the power to change this realm's fate.” 

That definitely was a flicker around the statue, something shifting, and a whisper in answer – something faint that almost wasn't even a voice so much as hearing something faded in his head. _Are you sure that is what you want?_

He shifted, looking up at the statue as best he could in the night. “Please... If you're listening at all and I'm not just asleep or hallucinating – help me.” 

_Your will shall be done._

He curled up against the base of the statue, either falling asleep or drifting further asleep; there was a vague sense of something close, but he was out too fast to even bother questioning it.


End file.
